


Ache

by Alicexharvey



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, F/M, I'm not sorry, geralt is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27087259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alicexharvey/pseuds/Alicexharvey
Summary: Geralt doesnt deal with break ups well
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Ache

Kaer Morhen was cold this time of year, the thin crumbling stone walls did little to keep the chill out of the keep. Each crack allowed wind to enter and howl throughout the damp echoing halls, only further solidifying the emptiness echoing in Geralts chest. 

_mutants cant feel anyway_

Lambert and Eskel were still on the path, leaving only Geralt and Vesemir to roam the decaying castle. Vesemir tried his best to relieve the ache and pain, but Geralt had started to believe this was chronic. A state of being. He imagined that if he had the ability to, he would cry. Hell, he would probably sob and scream, until the ache finally left his bones and found another body to inhabit. Until the pain finally stopped.

in Geralts mind, his grave had been dug, he had been buried, and now he was suffocating under the dirt. 

_that's how much it hurt._

He spent his days riding around the forests and mountains of Kaer Morhen, trying to recreate the feeling of freedom and youth he had, all those many moons ago. A lifetime ago. He killed any lurking monsters, mostly ghouls and the occasional wyvern flying to close. He refamiliarised himself with the dusty books that havent been touched since his childhood. He practiced on the battlements, on the pendulum. He became battered and bruised. Fell on his ass multiple times, broke a wrist. He felt none of it. It did nothing to relieve the pressure building inside his chest. But he continued. If not for distraction than for his craft. Because Geralt was a witcher. 

_and witchers are only good for killing monsters._

He drunk too. A lot. He cared little though. He spent each night in the keep stuck in his thoughts and his mind created a chasm for himself to jump into. To fall into. To fall until he hit the bottom and died. _Death never came_. Most nights ended with Vesemir carrying him into his chamber, like he was teenager again, after drinking too much with Eskel. Why Vesemir did it, Geralt doesnt understand. _Sure I think of him as a father, but I doubt he considers me a son._

Each day had become a routine, each day the chill from the keep set further into his bones, each day he bloodied himself, each day Vesemir carried him into bed. Each day he only missed her more.

The ache only grew deeper, this heart only blackened further. His soul devoid of anything. Each day the pain only further assimilated itself into his bones. He felt it the day his travelling cloak stopped smelling of her. The day he forgot the exact wonkiness of her smile. The warmth of her laugh. When he could no longer trace the path of her fingertips. It felt like she had never even existed at all. Like they had never existed at all. He missed her jests, the raise of her eyebrow when he made a bad joke, the unruliness of her hair, the walks they took, the nights spent curled up in front of the fire, whispering little nothings to eachother. He missed the sound of her whines and moans as they made love in the first breath of the morning. 

_But Geralt was a witcher, and witchers aren't made to love._

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sorry 
> 
> twitter is @Alicexharvey


End file.
